A Feast for Dragons

pricked the ball of his
thumb. He squeezed a fat drop of blood into the inkpot, traded the dagger for a
fresh quill, and scrawled,
Tyrion of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly
Rock
, in a big bold hand, just below Jorah Mormont’s far more
modest signature.
    And it’s done
. The dwarf rocked back on the
camp stool. “Is that all that you require of me? Don’t I need to swear an oath?
Kill a baby? Suck the captain’s cock?”
    “Suck whatever you like.” Inkpots turned the book around and
dusted the page with a bit of fine sand. “For most of us, the signature
suffices, but I would hate to disappoint a new brother-in-arms. Welcome to the
Second Sons, Lord Tyrion.”
    Lord Tyrion
. The dwarf liked the sound of
that. The Second Sons might not enjoy the shining reputation of the Golden
Company, but they had won some famous victories over the centuries. “Have other
lords served with the company?”
    “Landless lords,” said Brown Ben. “Like you, Imp.”
    Tyrion hopped down from the stool. “My previous brother was
entirely unsatisfactory. I hope for more from my new ones. Now how do I go
about securing arms and armor?”
    “Will you want a pig to ride as well?” asked Kasporio.
    “Why, I did not know your wife was in the company,” said
Tyrion. “That’s kind of you to offer her, but I would prefer a horse.”
    The bravo reddened, but Inkpots laughed aloud and Brown Ben
went so far as to chuckle. “Inkpots, show him to the wagons. He can have his
pick from the company steel. The girl too. Put a helm on her, a bit o’ mail,
might be some will take her for a boy.”
    “Lord Tyrion, with me.” Inkpots held the tent flap to let
him waddle through. “I will have Snatch take you to the wagons. Get your woman
and meet him by the cook tent.”
    “She is not my woman. Perhaps you should get her. All she
does of late is sleep and glare at me.”
    “You need to beat her harder and fuck her more often,” the
paymaster offered helpfully. “Bring her, leave her, do what you will. Snatch
will not care. Come find me when you have your armor, and I will start you on
the ledgers.”
    “As you wish.”
    Tyrion found Penny asleep in a corner of their tent, curled
up on a thin straw pallet beneath a heap of soiled bedclothes. When he touched
her with the toe of his boot, she rolled over, blinked at him, and yawned.
“Hugor? What is it?”
    “Talking again, are we?” It was better than her usual sullen
silence.
All over an abandoned dog and pig. I saved the two of us from
slavery, you
would think some gratitude might be in order
.
“If you sleep any longer, you’re like to miss the war.”
    “I’m sad.” She yawned again. “And tired. So tired.”
    Tired or sick?
Tyrion knelt beside her
pallet. “You look pale.” He felt her brow.
Is it hot in here, or does
she have a touch of fever?
He dared not ask that question aloud. Even
hard men like the Second Sons were terrified of mounting the pale mare. If they
thought Penny was sick, they would drive her off without a moment’s hesitation.
They might even return us to Yezzan’s heirs, notes or no notes
.
“I have signed their book. The old way, in blood. I am now a Second Son.”
    Penny sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What about
me? Can I sign too?”
    “I think not. Some free companies have been known to take
women, but … well, they are not Second Daughters, after all.”
    “We,” she said. “If you’re one of them, you should say we,
not
they
. Has anyone seen Pretty Pig? Inkpots said he’d ask
after her. Or Crunch, has there been word of Crunch?”
    Only if you trust Kasporio
. Plumm’s
not-so-cunning second-in-command claimed that three Yunkish slave-catchers were
prowling through the camps, asking after a pair of escaped dwarfs. One of them
was carrying a tall spear with a dog’s head impaled upon its point, the way
that Kaspo told it. Such tidings were not like to get Penny out of bed,
however. “No word as yet,” he lied. “Come. We need to find some armor for you.”
    She gave him a wary look. “Armor? Why?”
    “Something my old master-at-arms told me. ‘Never go to
battle naked, lad,’ he said. I take him at his word. Besides, now that I’m a
sellsword, I really ought to have a sword to sell.” She still showed no signs
of moving. Tyrion seized her by the wrist, pulled her to her feet, and threw a
fistful of clothing into her face. “Dress. Wear the cloak with the hood and
keep your head down. We’re supposed to